


Touch-Starved

by redreaper86



Series: farrelldano stuff [1]
Category: Actor RPF, The Batman (Movie 2021)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, I never write RPF, Loneliness, M/M, Mentions of Corona Virus, References to Depression, Teasing, Tickling, Touch-Starved, mentions of quarantine, minor riddlebird mention at the end, tickle fetish, until now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:40:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27495850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redreaper86/pseuds/redreaper86
Summary: Paul Dano, along with the rest of the cast and crew of The Batman have all spent yet another grey day stuck in London hotels self-quarantining after Robert Pattinson, the star of the film, tested positive for COVID-19 five days ago.Everyone is in the same boat as you, he tries to tell himself, fighting off the depression that has threatened to overwhelm him ever since filming shut down for the second time.We all are disappointed, not just you. And think how bad Rob must feel…But still the depression hits and he remembers how much he misses his family, or even another human being to touch and be touched by. A knock at the door startles him out of his funk.“Oi, Paul, it’s Colin. Can you let me in or what?”
Relationships: Paul Dano/Colin Farrell
Series: farrelldano stuff [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061561
Comments: 7
Kudos: 9





	Touch-Starved

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this back in early September when filming for _The Batman_ shut down again after Rob getting sick. I've never written rpf before -- but decided to and had a lot of fun writing this. I actually wrote before any of my other _The Batman_ fics -- it actually was what inspired me to write 2021 riddlebird.

Paul sighs as he closes his laptop after Skyping with his partner and their child for what seems like the thousandth time in the course of nearly a week. He, along with the rest of the cast and crew of The Batman have all spent yet another grey day stuck in London hotels self-quarantining after Robert, the star of the film, tested positive for COVID-19 five days ago. 

_Everyone is in the same boat as you_ , he tries to tell himself, fighting off the depression that has threatened to overwhelm him ever since filming shut down for the second time. _We all are disappointed, not just you. And think how bad Rob must feel_ …

But still the depression hits and he remembers how much he misses his family, or even another human being to touch and be touched by. A knock at the door startles him out of his funk.

“Oi, Paul, it’s Colin. Can you let me in or what?” (Translation: do you have the corona virus or not?)

“Hold on, I’m coming.” Hauling himself off the floor where he’s been sitting cross-legged beside the coffee table, Paul crosses the room and opens the door. When Colin sees him he whistles and its not a I-think-you’re-hot whistle, it’s a you-look-like-shit-warmed-over whistle.

“Bleeding hell, mate, what have you been doing to yourself?” The older man’s musical Irish brogue somehow brings the words added empathy and Paul feels his eyes sting as he stammers out a lame excuse -- something about not getting enough sleep, which of course is a bold faced lie. All he does now is sleep -- it’s the only thing that still gives him pleasure or, at the very least, a lack of pain. He feels bad about lying to Colin -- the two of them had become fast friends in the early days of shooting, back before the outbreak -- but really, what can he say? The truth? ‘I’m so sad and lonely and helpless and I just want someone to touch me right now?’ Yeah, best to stick to lying.

“Right,” Colin says, narrowing his beautiful brown eyes at him in a way that makes Paul feel that he can see right through him. “Let’s get some grub in you.”

Paul opens his mouth to say he isn’t really hungry but Colin is already bustling off toward the kitchen and rooting through the fridge. In a matter of moments, the older man has something frying on the stove that smells amazingly good for what little food there is in the fridge. Paul lopes into the kitchen and stands awkwardly off to one side.

“You don’t have to do this, Colin.” 

“Too late,” Colin douses whatever is in the pan with an ungodly amount of hot sauce. Paul winces at the bright scarlet colour leaching into the potatoes. Or are those eggs?

“I’m not really --” 

“‘Hungry?’” Colin finishes for him. “You said that. And yet…” he dumps one half of the contents of the pan on one plate then empties the rest onto the other, “…I’m gonna feed you.”

Paul, who has been about to say: ‘I’m not really a hot sauce guy,’ can only blush and accept his plateful of food. He can only finish a third of it -- it is far too spicy and filling for him. Colin wolfs down what’s left, then sets to work washing the dishes and wiping down the table. 

Twice Paul tries to help. Twice he’s banished to the couch with a beer in his hand. Paul sets this new beer beside the first one which only has a sip gone from it. When Colin is finished in the kitchen he joins Paul on the couch with two beers for himself. He laughs when he sees that Paul is not even halfway through his first beer.

“Here, hand me the unopened one.” Paul does so and Colin opens it at once and takes a long pull, all but draining the bottle. “So,” Colin says when he finally comes up for air, “you not only eat like a bird, you drink like one too. Thought I was the one supposed to be playing the bird. Of course my bird doesn’t eat like a bird. That’s the whole point. Am I saying ‘bird’ too much?”

Paul, who has been attempting to follow Colin’s roller-coaster conversation that somehow involves birds, shakes his head. “I don’t think so,” he says slowly. Each word seems to be made of molasses in his mouth. 

Colin turns to him, giving him his full attention. “Are you doing okay, mate?”

Paul takes a deep breath, prepares a polite lie, but his breath hitches and turns into whimper. He puts his head in his hands as misery descends on him like a cold, mouldy blanket.

Colin clicks his tongue in sympathy. “Come here, kiddo,” he orders gently, opening his arms to Paul, who crawls shamefacedly into them and promptly breaks down crying into Colin’s shoulder. Colin rocks him, strokes his hair, murmurs soothing things like the tried and true: ‘shh,’ and: ‘let it all out, then.’ 

Once Paul has done he still lies in Colin’s arms, across the older man’s lap, his head resting on the arm of the couch. He is so comfortable and comforted he can’t bear to move. Colin doesn’t seem to mind, however, as he reaches for another beer, placing it briefly on Paul’s chest while he pops off the cap. Once it is off he passes the bottle to his left hand and rests his right one on Paul’s stomach which jumps a little at the contact.

Colin raises a bushy eyebrow. 

“Ticklish?” 

Paul’s insides jolt at the word, and his breathing comes a little quicker for anticipation. “A little.” 

“Sorry about that,” Colin says, starting to move his hand only for Paul to catch it and place it deliberately back on his stomach.

“Don’t be,” Paul says, unable to meet the other’s eyes for embarrassment. “I really don’t mind.”

“What don’t you mind?” Colin’s mouth quirks up in a tiny, knowing smile.

“Being -- you know…” Paul trails off, blushing. “I actually kind like it.”

“Nothing wrong with that, mate,” Colin says affably, all trace of teasing gone from his tone. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Paul ventures a glance up at the older man. “You don’t think its weird,” he states flatly.

“My friend, believe me when I tell you I’ve seen _weird_ and lived _weirder_ ,” Colin says, laughing. “And your little fetish for being tickled doesn’t even make my top one hundred. Does that make you feel better?”

Paul does, in fact, feel immensely relieved. “Yes.” 

“So…” Colin gives him a sly glance, “would you like me to…” here he wriggles his fingers in the air to demonstrate. 

“Yes,” Paul says quickly, then gulps. “Yes, please.”

“Such a polite wee thing you are,” Colin chuckles as he slowly lowers his fingers to Paul’s belly causing the younger man to gasp. “And so _jumpy_ \-- I haven’t even touched you yet!” 

“Sorry,” Paul breathes.

“There you go with the manners again,” Colin rolls his dark eyes good-naturedly. “Stop being so bloody -- I don’t know -- _civil_.” Paul snorts at the way the word ‘civil’ is practically sneered. “You are allowed to be a brat,” Colin says. “In fact, I insist on your being as obnoxious and ill-mannered as you can manage.”

“May I ask why?” Paul says, even more politely than before. 

Colin growls at him playfully. “Because I said so.”

Now it’s Paul’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Oh-ho!” Colin exclaims with relish. “You’re really asking for it now, lad. Showing such disrespect to your elders.”

“What…?” Paul squints, genuinely confused for an instant before he catches on: “…are you planning to do about it? Old man!” he adds, for good measure. 

Colin’s eyebrows raise to new heights and he shakes his head with an ominous chuckle. Paul holds his breath, waiting…then -- Colin’s fingers jam into his ribcage and scrabble madly there. Paul squawks, flails his body, and clutches at Colin’s tormenting hands. It’s like each of Colin’s fingertips are like spark plugs as they evoke a sensation in Paul that is almost like being electrocuted, it sends thrills down his spine all the way to his toes, it sets his stomach to fluttering like he’s been force-fed live butterflies. 

Finally Colin slows the torture to a stop. “Are you ready to behave now?”

Given this tiny reprieve, Paul is too busy gulping in air to answer in words, and so, still giggling, he emphatically shakes his head from side to side.

“‘No, you’re not ready to behave?’” Colin translates mockingly. “Well, you know what that means, then. Cootchie-cootchie-coo!” His fingers scuttle over Paul’s ribcage like a couple of rabid tarantulas, and like tarantulas, Paul squashes them under his arms. “Hey,” Colin says and, seizing Paul’s wrists, “get your grubby little hands,” he shoves them under his own legs, “out of here.”

Now with Paul’s arms trapped under Colin’s thighs, his entire torso is draped across Colin’s lap, his every breath causing his t-shirt to ride up just a little bit more. 

“My, my, my,” Colin teases as he gently scratches at Paul’s sides, causing the younger man to writhe which in turn prompts the hem of his shirt to rise even higher, exposing his soft, flat stomach from his hips to his sternum. “Whatever do we have here? Hm?” 

Paul gives a giggly little whimper which instantly escalates to a squeal when Colin gently prods him in his heaving belly.

“You’re quite a ticklish wee thing, aren’t you?” Colin says, scouring his fingernails all over Paul’s exposed midsection prompting the latter to break into giggles, and squirm as best he can, trapped as he is. “Oh yes. Especially this cute little tummy of yours…” Colin walks his sturdy fingers all over the expanse of the subject of his narrative, gently stroking and scratching as they go.

“Co-hol-i-hin!” Paul squeaks, tossing his head from side to side. “Plea-hease!”

“Please ‘what,’ love?” Colin queries, slowing the tickling to more of a massage.

Paul gulps in precious oxygen. “Please keep doing…what you’re doing…” he gasps finally.

“Keep tickling you, you mean?” Colin smiles, still lightly kneading the slender but soft waist. “Like this?”

Paul blushes and whines and squirms. “Yes…but with more -- ack!” -- (Colin playfully pinches the sensitive belly-flesh that surrounds Paul’s navel) -- more…teasing, please.”

Colin’s smile turns decidedly devilish. “More teasing…about what, kiddo? You’ll have to be specific here.”

“I don’t know…” Paul bites his lip to hide his shy smile and tries to turn his face away.

“Oh, yes you do, you little minx,” Colin says in sing-song, tapping his fingertips in mock impatience on Paul’s stomach, eliciting much squeaking and wriggling from its owner. “Come on, out with it.”

“Like --” a long lock of hair is covering Paul’s right eye and he blows up a few times, trying and failing to remove it, until Colin tucks it behind his ear, “-- like -- oh, god, this is so embarrassing…”

“Its okay,” Colin rubs Paul’s stomach soothingly. “Take your time.”

Paul takes a shaky breath. “I like when you call me ‘little,’” he said quietly, his cheeks heating. “And…”

“What else, little one?”

“And when you say how ticklish I am…” Paul’s face is burning now. 

“What else, my ticklish little one?” Colin’s voice drips with amusement.

“Well…” Paul squirms uncomfortably. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I kind of…”

“Kind of, ‘what?’”

“I gained some weight,” Paul blurts out. “Over quarantine.”

“Really?” Colin looks surprised. “I didn’t notice.”

“Eight pounds.”

“You needed those eight pounds, then. You look great, Paul.”

“That’s kind of you to say, but…I don’t feel great. I feel fat.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, little one,” Colin murmurs, gently tracing Paul’s ribs. “What can I do to help you?”

“Just --” Paul takes a deep shaky breath that ends in a whimper, “just -- could you…I don’t know…talk about it? Like, mention it when you’re --”

“Sure, of course, love,” Colin coos soothingly, “I can do that. Even though I can’t really tell…except for this wee layer of pudge right here --” so saying, he tweaks the soft flesh of Paul’s flat but untoned belly eliciting a shriek of laughter from the younger man. Colin crawls his fingers up to Paul’s ribcage again: “I still can count all your ribs -- oh wait, that’s not a rib, that’s a fat roll! I’ll have to start all over again…”

In throes of musical laughter, Paul squirms as Colin’s gentle taunts just add to the playful torment. 

“Ooh, you are such an adorable little lump!” Colin gushes, as he continues mercilessly kneading Paul’s midsection. “Tickle, tickle, little one…all over, but especially on this cute, squishy belly of yours. It deserves a lot of tickling, doesn’t it, the impertinent thing! Always peeking impishly out from under those teensy-tiny shirts you wear -- you’re just begging for a good tickling in those, aren’t you, you naughty boy?”

“Oka-hay, sto-hop!” Paul squeals between fits of laughter.

Colin stops the tickling, gently pulls Paul’s shirt back down, smoothing out the wrinkles with the palm of his hand, the steady warmth comforting Paul and anchoring him back to reality. Colin lifts his legs a little so Paul can have his arms back. “You alright, kiddo?”

“Mm-hm,” Paul begins to catch his breath. “Thanks, Colin. I really needed that.”

“So did I,” Colin says as he massages feeling back into the younger man’s hands. “We’ll have to do this again sometime.”

Paul’s heart leaps. “You’d want to do this with me again?”

“Don’t look so surprised, mate,” Colin says, flashing a white-toothed smile. “We’re going to be working together as these characters a lot in this film and in the sequels. And our characters are close. It could be a good exercise in acting chemistry.”

Paul bites his lip shyly. “Our characters are pretty close, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Colin says, squeezing Paul’s hand. “Just like us.”


End file.
